A Hero Gone Wrong
by Ro222
Summary: His chapped lips formed two words, two mere and broken words and yet, it was those two words that made everyone in that room sob aloud. "Wise Girl." / Dark!Percy


The second her dead body hit the ground was the start to something that would change him forever. It was the start of him shattering, piece by piece, day by day, with no hope of anyone ever being able to put him back together again.

Nobody, not even the most skilled actor in the world, could recreate the scream that tore though Percy Jackson's lips the moment she fell to the ground, her body unmoving. It struck through the very fabric of your soul, it echoed through bones and destroyed hearts. The sorrow, the misery, the pain and grief and fear and sadness and fury and darkness was enough to make any warrior quake in their boots.

His chapped lips formed two words, two mere and broken words and yet, it was those two words that made everyone in that room sob aloud. "Wise Girl." No reply would ever come. Not ever again. She would never retort the words Seaweed Brain again.

It was as if every part of him - every vein and bone and muscle - was slowly powering down. Percy dropped to his knees as his ears slowly stopped hearing. As his world fell apart at the seams. As his Wise Girl died.

Shoulders shaking with silent, heavy breaths, Percy's fingers ripped at the earth beneath them. His fingers ached and bled as he pushed away the ground. He wasn't sure what, exactly, he was hoping to accomplish. Maybe he was trying to escape this nightmare, trying to rip it apart bit by bit and to wake up with Annabeth hovering over him.

But he could try and try and try forever, he could try until the stars stopped shining. But it wouln't change anything. It wouldn't bring her back. Nothing would ever bring her back.

So Percy Jackson let go. And he let that monster inside of him that had been caged for so long finally unfurl it's talons.

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Waking up again, coated in sweat that felt too much like blood, with a pale hand grasping at his heart, Percy screamed in fury. Seven months. Seven months had passed since Annabeth's death. And that sadness had slowly turned to anger.

Anger at the Gods for letting such a thing happen. Anger at himself for letting it happen. Anger at his friends for not doing anything other then standing there in shock whilst Percy fell apart. Anger at everything and everyone, for letting a great hero die.

Annabeth had been the greatest out of all of them; she was smart and brave and kind and funny and beautiful and flawless. In Percy's opinion, anyway. Nothing and no one could amount to her.

The walls of the cave were covered in shadows, shadows that looked like monsters. Percy's shadows. He hadn't gone back to camp, he couldn't of faced it. Instead, he'd ran. Like a coward, he had ran. And he'd come across this cave and he had hid in it those first painful weeks.

Reaching into that dark part of him, the part that had saved him from years of grief, Percy relished in the feeling. He couldn't quite explain it. But, in that endless darkness that he had grown so accustomed to, there was a sort of peace. There was a storm around him, raging and circling and merciless, but in that darkness, it was like there was a protective bubble shielding him.

Bringing out Riptide, Percy stabbed the blade into the wall beside him, letting the sword fall down as he etched another line into the wall. It showed how many days he had watched the moon sink and the sun rise without his Wise Girl.

He smiled and shook his head slowly. So many days, so many nights and he had not seen the stars shine once. There was only the heavy shadows that swirled and stained the sky, night after night; there was no stars to wish upon. But Percy figured that all hope, all love and gooness in the world had died with Annabeth.

The sea beneath him crashed against the rocks, the wind flowing through the mouth of the cave. No door, Percy didn't want nor need one. If a monster came in at night then he would gladly accept his death. He'd even ask the monster to draw it out and make himself suffer for all the awful things he'd done.

When he died, Percy wanted it to hurt as much as possible. He wanted as many scars as possible, he wanted as much pain as possible and he wanted it to be as long as possible. Because, when he showed up in the Afterlife, he wanted to be able to see his deceased friends and family and be able to say _"I know that I have failed you. But I have paid for that, I have collected these scars in a vain hope to earn your forgiveness. And I am so sorry. For everything."_

Percy closed his eyes, clenching his fists. He grinned slightly, thinking of all the people who he'd see when he died and went to the Afterlife: His mum who had died of a broken heart after Paul had died of cancer and she'd recieved the news that Percy had ran away, Paul, Bianca, Zoe, Beckendorf, Silena, Luke, Ethan, and, above all of them, _Annabeth_.

As his fists slowly unclenched, he remembered the words that his mum had always told him, ever since he was a child. _"There will always be a fire, Percy, but whether you look at the light it brings or the shadows it creates is entirely up tp you."_

At the time, Percy had thought nothing of it. But, as the years went on and that fire grew bigger and burned brighter, Percy realised what it actually meant. And ever since Annabeth had died, he'd repeated those words over and over into the darkness.

Though, he was no longer grieving. He was no longer sad. He just had this need, this thirst, for revenge. Percy opened his eyes and began sharpening Riptide on a stone, sparks flying as he grinded the blade against the rock.

In the darkness of the cave, the veins in his arms looked almost black. It seemed fitting; his heart was black and the walls built around it were higher than the stars, his veins should be black, too.

 _"Go, young hero. Go and make her death mean something. Go and prove that you cannot be controlled. Go and destroy this cruel, cruel world."_

Whispers had been filtering into his ears for months now. Who it belonged to, Percy had no clue. But the whisperer had been his friend these long, long days. The words were always tempting and laced with manipulation, but, until now, Percy had never had the courage to do as they said.

But now he had the courage. Now, he had thought about everything that had been taken from him. And he had thought about all the things that had slowly turned his heart black. Percy stood from where he had been slumped up against the back wall of the cave, Riptide in hand, and walked out.

The balmy air was fresh and smelt of sea salt and spindrift, but it was veiled with anticipation and darkness as if the world knew what was about to happen. As if it was suspecting it.

Laughter from children on the beach a few miles away reached Percy, but he didn'y give it a second thought. He didn't think about anything othe than what was happening now, at this exact moment.

A cruel laugh broke from him, sending goosebumps rising on his bare arms. _"Do it now, young hero. Do it now."_ Percy didn't need to be told twice; he closed his eyes, his fingers closing in on the hilt of Riptide and focused on that pain in his gut.

Water rushed towards him, became a part of him. Usually, Percy would focus on control and what amount of power was the right amount without letting that monster take over completely. Now, however, Percy let go of all control. And he welcomed that monster like a lost friend.

As the water swirled around him, roaring in his ears like a bittersweet lullaby. The ground began to shake and tremble and the winds picked up. He was doing it. From the screams and sound of feet pounding the shaking ground, Percy knew that there was either a hurricane or a tsunami in the distance. All at his will.

Then, with his fingers encased around Riptide's hilt like a vice in a white-knuckle grip, Percy mustered all of his courage and anger and he plunged that sword into his stomach, twisting a full circle and then taking it out.

And as Percy collapsed to the ground, bleeding out quicker than the current of a wild river, his eyes caught on his arms. And the veins were still black.

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"Perseus Jackson," came a booming, cold voice. Percy shuddered at the sound, and blinked. He... he was dead. He was in the Afterlife. He looked down at his stomach where there should of been a large, gaping and bloody hole. But there was only the dark fabric of his shirt and the tanned muscled torso that had always been there.

Percy smiled as triumph flooded through him; he had done it. He finally got to be with those that he loved. He didn't have to suffer the world's abuse any longer. He was going to see Annabeth. "Where am I?" He asked apprehensively, unable to stop himself.

He could hardly see anything. Actually, he could only see the shadows of a large throne and people sitting in smaller chairs beside it. "We are the Judges of the Underworld." Percy, again, shivered despite himself at the sound of the cruel voice. "And now the time has come to weigh your soul."

At that, Percy couldn't help but feel like his thread of hope of ever seeing Annabeth again had just fallen through his fingers. He knew, deep down, without the Judgs even yet deciding, that he would not be going to Elysium.

On the walls, Percy's life flashed up. And a voice was narrating the thoughts that had been going through his head at the time of it all. _His_ voice. From everything from his time with Gabe, to seeing Annabeth for the first time at Half-Blood hill. To losing his memories and going into Tartarus with Annabeth. To the deaths he had witnessed and been unable to stop, to defeating Gaea. To going on holiday with Jason, Leo, Nico, Thalia, Piper, Frank, Hazel, Reyna and Annabeth and the night where Annabeth had died. And every bad thing he had done in grief and fury since.

Another shudder ripped through Percy's core. He had been so cruel, he had been so heartless, so merciless. How had he ever let such wretched thoughts enter his mind? Then, the pictures dissappeared and arguing voices took over the silence.

They were speaking so loudly, simultaneously. Percy couldn't catch what they were saying until all of those voices merged into one. And they began saying one thing and one thing only: "The fields of punishment. The fields of punishment. The fields of punishment."

Percy bowed his head, ignoring the tears building up. He wouldn't see Annabeth again, he'd be doomed to an eternity of suffering and he'd know that he damned well deserved it. Percy shivered and grit his teeth as chains were clamped on his wrists and ankles. He'd driven himself mad with the need for vengance, he'd done terrible, unforgivable things because that was the only way to ease the pain.

He'd killed hundreds of innocent humans the first few months of Annabeth's death because he hadn't been in control. He'd given himself to that beast that thrived in the shadows inside of him; he'd become that beast.

Perseus Jackson... a hero gone wrong.

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 **How was that? Good? Bad? Schist? I'm not sure where this came from other than the fact that dark Percy is super hot, haha.**

 **Well, that was actually quite fun to write. Probably not fun for you guys to read though, sorry :/**

 **Let me know what you thought!**  
 **Love you all!**  
 ***Virtual Hugs***

 **Ro x**


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